


megaphone to my chest

by wandasmaximoffs



Series: enjoltaire week 2017 [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Enjoltaire Week 2017, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M, Minor Injuries, and combeferre is a good bro, enjolras is such a good boyfriend, theme: it's not what it looks like, then more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/pseuds/wandasmaximoffs
Summary: “I’m fine, I’mfine,really, R, it’s not what it looks like.” The words come out in a rush, both arms going out to push Grantaire gently back down onto the pillows. Grantaire doesn’t look any less concerned, only more confused, and Enjolras sighs.He’s not particularly proud of it, but he did what he had to do.“Well, visiting hours were over,” He starts, defensively, “So I had to find a way to get into the hospital to see you. And Combeferre offered to help."





	megaphone to my chest

“Don’t panic,” Says Enjolras, the second he steps into Grantaire’s hospital room, “It’s not what it looks like.”

He’s not completely sure that Grantaire will even be able to register his presence; The pain medication he’s been put on makes him kind of disorientated, and the nurse told him they were upping his dosage when he left that morning, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

(Grantaire’s been through a lot this past week; he doesn’t need to panic unnecessarily over Enjolras, and the sling holding his left arm to his chest.)

Grantaire smiles when he speaks, and blinks slowly. “S’pretty.” He says. Enjolras has no idea what he’s talking about, but he can’t help but smile back. Grantaire’s smile has that kind of effect on him, warming and infectious, and Enjolras can already feel the stress of the day leaving his body as he closes the distance between them to sink down into the chair beside his bed.

“What’s pretty, love?” His voice is soft, and he gently pushes some stray curls from Grantaire’s cheek. He looks pale, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes, but it’s still better than he was before the surgery, at the rally.

Enjolras shakes the thought from his head, and refocuses on his boyfriend, safe and healing in the bed in front of him.

“Mm, your hair,” Grantaire hums, and sighs softly. “It glows.”

He raises his hand, as if to mimic Enjolras’ own movements, but Enjolras catches it with the arm that isn’t bound to his chest, and masks his smile by pressing soft kisses to his bruised knuckles. Grantaire sighs again, and Enjolras watches as his eyelids flutter closed.

 

Optimism, to Enjolras, is the only way to keep moving forward in this life. Hope eternal for the future, in spite of the injustices of the world, and righteous anger reserved for the deserving cause.

But Grantaire in a hospital bed seems like a deserving cause, so Enjolras lets himself drift off for a while, too, and consider the unfairness of it all. Surely, he’s been through enough by now-- They _both_ have-- That he deserves some peace. Peace, in place of bruises and broken bones that prompt complications that prompt surgeries.

(Though Combeferre had assured him earlier that this should be it, for now; a few more days for observation purposes and then back home, so they can forget that this week ever happened.)

 

“You went home,” Mutters Grantaire, sounding much more alert than he had earlier, though still relatively foggy.  Enjolras jumps; He thought Grantaire had fallen asleep, though the reproachful eyes staring up at him prove otherwise. “ _E._ You were supposed to go and get some sleep.”

“What, and leave my boyfriend alone in the hospital? I couldn’t sleep, even if I wanted to, knowing you’re here on your own.”

It’s not a platitude; He had tried, after being all but physically thrown out when visiting hours had ended, to get some sleep, but couldn’t. Thoughts of Grantaire laying alone, and upset, or in pain, had haunted him into taking some action.

“You’re a sap.” Says Grantaire, matter of factly, but the crooked smile that comes with it is wiped off his face immediately when he glances down to the sling. “Fuck, E, what happened to your arm? You’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine, I’m _fine,_ really, R, it’s not what it looks like.” The words come out in a rush, his unencumbered arm going out to push Grantaire gently back down onto the pillows. “It’s not real, see? Fake injury, fake sling, my arm is fine.”

Grantaire doesn’t look any less concerned, only more confused, and Enjolras sighs. He’s not particularly proud of it, but he did what he had to do.

“Well, visiting hours were over,” He starts, defensively, “So I had to find a way to get in and see you. And Combeferre offered to help, because I was pacing so much and _apparently_ that freaks Courfeyrac out, but I’m willing to be that’s only because he literally drank like two entire pots of coffee, and--”

 

His rambling defence is cut off by someone clearing their throat pointedly, and Grantaire turns as well as he can to see Combeferre leaning on the door frame, clad in his scrubs and looking thoroughly amused.

“Explain.” Demands Grantaire, over Enjolras’ noise of protest. Combeferre pushes his glasses up.

“Your boyfriend made me smuggle him in through the ER by pretending he had an injury I was attending to, so he’d stop harassing everyone and pacing a hole in the floor.”

“I wasn’t _harassing_ anyone,” Grumbles Enjolras, picking at the knot of the sling until it gives way, and he can move his arm again, “And you _offered_ to smuggle me in.”

“Oh my _God,_ E. You had Combeferre _break you into a hospital_ just so you could _visit me?”_ Grantaire doesn’t really sound surprised; It’s more fondness, tinted with perhaps a _little_ disbelief.

“‘Course I did,” Enjolras grins, and takes Grantaire’s hand again, pressing kisses to his palm this time, “And I’d do it again. I’ve no remorse, the stress was worth it.”

 

“You’re looking a lot better, R,” Combeferre adds, from the doorway. At some point in the conversation he’d started perusing his chart, something Enjolras has done many times, but has never been able to make any sense of. “ _Much_ better than yesterday. Being on the mend suits you.”

“It does suit you. Very much.” Enjolras agrees, curls bouncing wildly as he nods.

“Thanks, Ferre. For smuggling him in and all.” Yawns Grantaire, blinking groggily again, “And hey. I always feel _miles_ better when you’re around, Apollo.”

“I suppose I better stick around, then.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire smiles, squeezing his hand, “I suppose so.”

**Author's Note:**

> WHOOO DAY 2!! i intended to make this way angstier but i just couldnt bring myself to not have a happy ending?? and idk what happened to grantaire so i kept it ~vague~ but he'll be okay!! the title is from "the louvre" by lorde :vv
> 
> usual stuff applies, tip ur fic writers with comments/kudos, and you can come hmu on tumblr @ jehanprouvaiire!!


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